“They knew where to look, Mr. Bathurst, for what they wanted, didn’t they?”
“I don’t think, somehow, that we’re dealing with ordinary thieves. There’s something special about this.”
“You think there were more than one then, Inspector?”
“I’m inclined to think so! There are a few traces of dried mud on the carpet—nothing to speak of—can’t be sure whether they were left there by one man or two. Still—on the whole, I fancy there are more than one in it.” He looked at Anthony critically. “What can this young lady have possessed of such value that these people wanted it so badly?”
Anthony considered the question. “And was its value intrinsic or extrinsic?” he added to Bannister’s query. He was thinking now of such things as a photograph. The Inspector raised his eyebrows interrogatively.
“Just what are you thinking of?” he asked.
“When I spoke,” rejoined Anthony, “I wasn’t exactly thinking of anything in particular—since you’ve pressed me, however—I’ll give you an example. In some circumstances for instance—a photograph or a bundle of letters might possess an extraordinary value.”
Bannister caressed his top lip. “H’m,” he commented. “I suppose there’s something in what you say. But where we’re handicapped so tremendously here at the moment is in the fact that there’s nobody here can tell us anything about the dead girl. Until we get into touch with this ‘Pinkie’ person—or with the gentleman whose visiting-card we’ve found—we’re working in the dark.” He swung round on the local man. “Ross,” he exclaimed sharply, “can you tell me anything personal or intimate about this Miss Delaney?”
Ross responded to the invitation with a certain amount of eagerness. “I’m a Westhampton man, although I only came to my present job a year ago,” he said, “and I’ve known Miss Delaney ever since her father came to live in Tranfield. I’ve watched her grow into the beautiful young woman that she undoubtedly was. I knew her father, Colonel Delaney, well. He died—whilst home on leave in 1917, I think it was.” He knitted his brows—then continued his story. “He was drowned, if I remember rightly, up at Nillebrook Water—that’s about four miles from here—and the police weren’t altogether satisfied with the manner of his death. It was a most unsatisfactory business. In fact—for a considerable time too—foul play was strongly suspected. But nothing ever came to light that properly justified their suspicions and it was brought in ‘Accidental death.’ I wish I could remember the details but it’s eleven years ago and a lot of things have happened since then. Still, the best man for information about Colonel and Sheila Delaney is Sir Matthew Fullgarney—the Lord Lieutenant of the County. He and Major Carruthers were great pals of the Colonel—officers together, I believe, years before—in the same regiment or something.”
Bannister shewed signs of corroboration. “That would be the Major Desmond Carruthers to whom Miss Carruthers referred this morning,” he announced to Anthony. “He’s dead, also, I believe. Tell me, Ross, is Miss Delaney’s mother dead, too?”